


Letters.

by blueleader12



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brief Mentions of AusHun, Brief Mentions of GerIta, Brief Mentions of Lietpol, Brief Mentions of PruHun, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27806317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueleader12/pseuds/blueleader12
Summary: Just like the flames from the fire that burned their once most cherished bridges, they catch letters that might restore bonds. Japan, England, America, Russia, and China have seen perhaps what might be the worse of all, and one of their most prevailing emotions is regret, but they learn to love again.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), China/Rome (Hetalia), England/Japan (Hetalia), Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Lithuania/Poland (Hetalia)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> PART ONE:

The taste of japanese green tea on his tongue, the smell of old japanese incense and flowers, he rocked himself in a chair outside his home. Wearing a hat; a similar shape to his old military uniform one, and a simple colored men's yukata. He was reading some japanese literature, an old one from the days when he was young and would sail the seas. He chuckled, upon seeing the old pressed flowers in between the pages, with handwritten english words on the pages. He sighed, kissing one of the flowers and pressing it back down into the classic book. He hugged the book close to his chest as he remembered the good ol’ days. 

Across the seas, in the West, his past lover’s fingers ran across the excessive amount of english literature he had collected over the years. His green eyes scanned the halls of books all scattered throughout his english study. A pool stick rested upon the green table with the balls closely stacked together. His green sweater vest was soft to touch, and the smell of his clothes amplified his natural scene. Earl grey tea, the smell of old books, and the ground after it is finished raining. That scent would drive his lover insane, but it was different now. 

The West and the East couldn’t be more separated. The seas, the countries, and the affairs kept them all so more apart than they never could imagine. 

Old love letters found his fingers, neatly written english words, with broken grammar. He smiled, reading them over and over again, still feeling the same romance he did when reading them the first time. He wondered if he still looked the same. If he had moved on. The old love letters were replaced by new bills to be passed from his boss, the Queen of England. He had stopped sending them; anxiety increasing. 

But the british man kept on going on, living everyday, indulging a cup of tea, filling out papers to do with his job and so much more, but whenever he would do those tasks how we would want his love by his side, dancing with him in between the tasks. 

Longing. More longing. 

He figured he shouldn’t be longing, and move on. The thought always crossed his mind. Find a lovely lady or a charming chap, and forget about his lover in the East, but he could never. He could never move on from those charming eyes, the soft smiles, or the determined ambitious. 

Dear Mr. Kirkland,  
How is life over in the west? I am working on my english grammar, so it isn’t so broken, next time I meet with you. I assure we will see each other again. I recently came across the pressed flowers in the book you had once placed in my library; brought a smile to my face, indeed. I apologize for not writing to you in a while. Restoring old bonds and putting the burning bridges to rest is quite a task. Even so much more tedious than the meetings with Mr. Jones. Please won’t you write to me, soon? 

Love,  
Honda Kiku. 

Dearest Mr. Honda,  
Words cannot express how grateful I am to see your words once more, even if they are so broken. I miss you more than the Sun misses rising in your land. We have been kept apart for too long. I was starting to believe that you had moved on, perhaps met another lad. How is life in the East? I’ve been worried sick, but you don’t need to know that. Please do not apologize for restoring bonds and friendships, it is always to try to make horrible deeds, right. Take it from me, the old british empire, you know how many people hate me. I assure you, I do believe we will meet again once more. Perhaps, we can rub it into Alfred and Ivan’s faces that we have a better relationship. I miss you truly, Kiku. 

Love,  
Arthur Kirkland. 

Eventually, the new bills were replaced with the old letters once more. Arthur arose every morning oh so happily, awaiting his lover’s letters. He would pour himself a cup of tea, adjusting his tie, hurrying over to his study to read old books. The days were lighter, by every letter they exchanged. Arthur decided to go out of his stuffy study one day and enjoy his tea in his garden, but an unwelcome company appeared. 

“Yo, Arthur. What’s up?” His blue eyes met with his green eyes. His blonde hair was untamed, with his cowlick sticking up. Wearing his jacket, and holding a coke he walked up to the brit. The brit rolled his eyes, setting his tea down. 

“Hello Alfred.” He spoke, smoothing out his collar. Arthur’s eyes drifted around Alfred’s clothing attire. 

“So, what brings you here?” The accent is cold and straightforward. 

“I just wanted to check on you. You’ve been distant from everyone. I thought maybe you’d be spending time with France!” Alfred questioned, making himself at home, pulling out a chair of the table and sitting in it. 

Arthur sighed, crossing his legs. 

“I’d think you’d be unfriendly, so no one wants to hang with you. You are a lonely hermit crab.” Alfred added, followed by a series of laughs. Arthur rolled his eyes, his eyebrows raising in the process. 

“As a matter of fact, Alfred. I have been denying all of the invites from other countries, I’m expecting a letter.” Arthur explained, sipping a bit of his beverage, as Alfred took a giant gulp of his soda. 

“Ooh Arthur.” Alfred teased, as Arthur leaned back in his chair, posture still great as ever. 

“I would think you would be in a broom closet with someone.” His british accent became hostile. Alfred widened his eyes, almost dropping his soda, just as he did his jaw. 

“I am not-” His voice went quiet, as Arthur nodded. “Yes, Yes I know.” 

“But the way Ivan looked at you last meeting. I saw it.” Arthur whispered, longing once more. His eyelids met his eyes halfway, as he stared in the distance, eye contact wavering. 

“He’s your whole world too. He’s the cause of your suffering, your happiness, your desire. You want to love him, you want to adore him, but you also want to destroy him. He’s your equal and you’re terrified. You’ve met your match.” Arthur words attacked Alfred. 

“You’ve been reading too much.” were the only words Alfred could muster. 

“And you read too little.” Arthur retorted. 

“Have you written a letter to him? You should.” 

Alfred let out a shaky breath.


	2. II.

Rarely, Alfred would take Arthur’s advice. Being his younger brother, Alfred would constantly try to figure these things out on himself. He was the hero, It wasn’t Arthur’s job to protect Alfred, in fact, Arthur did a shitty job at it. 

But this was different. 

As much as Alfred did not want to admit it, Arthur had more experience with relationships. Arthur had more ups and downs, than Alfred’s ups. Arthur had unbroken bonds die and get torn in his eyes. Alfred only surrounded himself with friends, he’d known that would be his friend. Arthur was content with his loneliness and longing, Alfred was not. 

So he did. He wrote the russian a letter. 

Dear Ivan,   
What’s up? I don’t know why I’m writing this letter to you, but I guess I decided I should. It’s been a while since we had ourselves a time to meet up. So to break the distance, how are you? What’s going on in your country? I assure you my country’s doing much better than yours. You know life is pretty boring considering we don’t have much to do. Human-like creatures with the knowledge that we are here; spending the rest of our lives on this planet. You know, everytime I see the Moon, I think of you. 

Alfred F. Jones. 

Alfred,   
Spit it out. What is that you want? You never write a letter just to frankly keep in touch. You are repulsed by my presence, so why are you so interested in my being? You write a letter to me, just for your own gain, da? This letter means nothing. Life is far from boring, if you understood what was going on. If you weren’t so blinded, maybe you’d understand, life isn’t just life. It’s all a game, and I think you are challenging me are you not? You waste paper, that you do not know is lessening by the minute, just to tell me that we are cursed with immortality? You know, when I see the moon, I do not think of you in fact. 

Ivan. 

Ouch. Alfred hissed while reading the harsh words that the russian had written. His blue eyes became shiny like the wet ocean, as the tears fell onto the parchment. He sighed, sitting in the corner, realizing that he could never get through to this russian, but in fact, he didn’t know what was going through the russian’s mind. 

“I’m sorry.” Ivan whispered. 

The russian sat there in his own sorrow. He watched the candle flicker in the dark, as he sat staring. His eyes drifted across the room after a bit, trying to drink his regrets. Everytime he would close his eyes, he’d find him staring back into his soul, unforgettable. Those shiny blue eyes carved their way into his heart. His annoying laughter stole his breath away quickly and sneakily. Arthur was correct. Alfred was Ivan’s whole world. 

But he also wanted to destroy his whole world. 

“Ivan?” A voice spoke out of the quiet room. Her blonde hair fell just below her ears, and wore a blue headpiece, with sunflowers painted on them. Her blue eyes watched her brother sulk and try to drink the excruciating pain away. There was no response from the boy. 

“Ivan?” She repeated again, walking closer to the russian. Her hand made contact with his shoulder, his soft jacket touching her fingers. She smiled at her younger, bending down to be at his level. 

“Remember when your friends would pick on you?” She began to adjust his scarf. Ivan let out a shudder. 

“They weren’t my friends at all.” He whispered, as she sighed. “Sister, I don’t like being surrounded by so many people, but feeling deep down alone.” He shuddered; Ivan was a mess. 

His sister Katya had never been a relationship, as she was content with herself, but she understood the pain and inexperience. Even though her relationship was stable with herself, her brother and other sister had not. Nataylia and Ivan were complex. 

“Aw Ivan.” She took his hands in hers, and smiled, pressing a kiss on his forehead. 

“Even though you’re much stronger than me, you’re still so young.” She sighed, letting go of his hands, and standing up. Ivan’s hands fell down to his lap. “Sister, what is a friend?” 

“Well, brother. Friends are what you make of them.” She said, carrying a plate of food out of the kitchen. 

“Friends are what you make of them.” He repeated, before standing up and venturing into the cold. His scarf danced in the wind, as the cold air hit his face, and his hands. He couldn’t seem to get warm for the life of him, always cold, always shivering, always empty. Maybe, just maybe, Ivan needed to get his poor blood circulation up once more. 

And the man to do that was the man he had written a letter oh so hostile to.


	3. III.

Arthur started his days up with a smile and a kiss on an envelope. In fancy lettering, he wrote his lover’s name, sealing the letter up and walking to his small mailbox to mail it. Days were calm once more, but at least Arthur had something to be looking forward to. The rising sun as he walked out of his home, his sweater vest adjusted tightly on him. He’d hear some kids scream about whatever kids screamed about these days, and he rolled his green eyes. He sat in his garden midday, when Alfred came running to him. 

“Arthur Arthur Arthur!” The loud boy cried, as Arthur looked up alarmed at the tone in his voice. 

“What’s the matter, Alfred? Can’t you see I’m drinking…. Well.” He trailed off, but then set his tea. Eyes turning cold, and empty. The pair of blue eyes’ crying in front of him. His younger choking on his tears and sobs, on his knees, and holding a piece of paper. 

Arthur slouched, snatching the paper out of his hand in a fast motion. 

“What’s this?” He asked, as Alfred sniffled, “Wipe your tears, Alfred.” He grabbed a handkerchief out of his pocket, giving it to the american. His eyes scanned the paper, seeing the lettering of a familiar country of his. 

“Oh Alfred.” Arthur tsked, sitting the paper down on the table, and returning to his tea. With a sip, he sighed, “You wrote such an awful letter, Clearly I thought you better.” He sighed, as Alfred looked at him. 

“Well, how was I supposed to write a letter? You didn’t teach me squat.” 

“I’ll teach you, once again.” He sighed. 

Dearest Mr. Brangiski,  
Pleasure to find your words again, even if they are hostile. I assure you are well, doing alright? Life in your country must be hard. After all, it isn’t America. 

“Bloody hell, Alfred. When I said, maintain a level of formality and honesty, I did not mean, blow him out of the water.” Arthur spit out his tea, upon reading the first couple of sentences. 

Alfred widened his eyes, “Then how the hell am I supposed to this? You told me you’re helping me, yet you’re doing a terrible job, like you’ve always done.” 

Arthur gasped in distress, as he sighed. “Do you want my help or not?” 

“Not anymore, I don’t. I'll work it out later.” 

And with that he left. Arthur was once more alone. 

Dear Arthur,  
I take it Alfred is giving you a hard time. As much I hate to break it to you, you are not helping in any way either. I know Alfred is a little unpleasant, but you push him away, oh so very easy. Alfred gave me trouble, and still does, you know this, but yet I hold my ground, I do not get angry. I hold my calm, and breathe. I cannot wait to see you once more, during the meeting upcoming in a few weeks. Till then, 

Kiku. 

My love,  
It appears our letters are getting less formal as we exchange more often, which I am grateful for, yet I’m afraid I’m turning into a hypocrite. I’ve been telling Alfred to write letters formally to his object of interest, but he has trouble sticking to it. I just wish Alfred was easier to handle, His strange behavior is hard to master and tame. I fear for Ivan, and what he might have to put up with, Kiku darling. Besides my life, I cannot wait to find you sitting or standing in the meeting room. I love you darling. 

Arthur. 

I think the problem is no one can stick to formalities, especially him. And when you say “his behavior is too hard to tame,” you forgot what you were like when we first met. I assure you you didn’t think about my own perspective, you old man. 

Arthur chuckled upon reading Kiku’s tone. It was like he could hear him speak, even though they were quite the distance away. His thumb danced around, the small mark under some words, and smiled. He held the letter close to his chest, before sitting it down on the table, but then returning to it. Kiku did have a point. He was reckless, just like him. He was untamable. The only difference is that Alfred was obsessed with the moon, as Arthur is obsessed with the sun. 

Kiku smiled, drinking his tea, sitting near the back of his home, open to his garden, the trees dancing in the wind, as he held the letter, smelling the western culture, and Arthur's scent. He set it down, and looked up at the rising sun. His sister walked through the garden, her gentle figures touching the flowers that had just bloomed. She walked over, wearing her pink traditional wear, and sitting next to her brother.  
“How is Kirkland-san?” She questioned. 

Kiku turned to find her sitting oh so curiously, and he nodded. “Hai, he’s doing just fine.” The tips of his mouth curled up, imaging Arthur probably yelling at Alfred. 

“That’s good.” She nodded, looking over to the side. 

Kiku smiled, handing her some tea. “To restore old bonds, and rebuild bridges.” He smiled, as she moved closer and gave him a hug. 

In the past, Sakura and Kiku had been split. Kiku drove for ambition, Sakura was trapped in beauty. They didn’t get along as young children, but as they grew, and Kiku witnessed bonds crashing and burning, he first started with his sister to reconnect with. 

“Which brings me to a question, what about Yao?” 

Kiku froze and stopped drinking his tea. His big dark eyes were just as large as the great big moon. Sakura turned at him and tilted her head, one like a cat. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Kiku didn’t answer, but responded with an action. He stood up, nodded, and disappeared. Similar to a sulky teenager retreating to his room, after a disagreement with an older family member. 

Sakura bit her lip in distress. She didn’t mean for Kiku to get upset over the mention of their older. She just sighed, leaning on the back of the home, and awaiting for bonds to be opened once again. 

Wang Yao sat in the main area of his peaceful home. The gentle flow of wind, as he took a mental rest from the busy day of his life. He still needed to prepare dinner and tend to his home cleaning. He sighed, taking a bit deep breath, and opening his eyes. His dark eyes adjusted to thae trees in the area, and his tea next to him. He sipped some of his tea, calming his senses. A memory appeared in the form of a quick flash, followed by another heartbreak. The poor man.  
First, he had lost his lover in a great fall of an empire. Second, he had lost his brother in a great argument with his family. Third, he had left his pot on the stove, and it was now boiling over. 

“Gah.” He shouted, standing up, knocking his tea over, spilling into the soil, with his foot. He made a hiss noise, and ran back into the home. He turned off the stove, cursing all the way, and de-stressing the situation. Unlike colonizers, he didn’t make things worse. 

After, finishing his dinner, he took a stroll down the small town, petting a cat nearby, and then humming. He went to a small postal station and picked up some bills to pass and a few personal letters. He flipped them mindlessly, until he saw the letter H caught his eye.


	4. IV.

Honda Kiku. Wang Yao let out a shaky breath, his fingers opening the letter up. The white paper spilling out of the white envelope. In neatly handwritten, there his little brother had written something out to him. Yao felt something prick up in his eyes, as sat down, and read the note his brother had worked on. Sniffling, remembering the attroctries, and the whole moon incident, his heart ached. Aching for the old bounds that were once strong, he closed his eyes. 

Honda Kiku,   
It’s been so long. Has the moon not given you the company you wished for? You have asked for restorement, yet you are going to break me once more, correct? When I first found you in that forest, I thought you were never going to defy me, but I guess my wisdom has worn off, but I am opening my heart and arms up once more.   
-Wang Yao.   
Kiku’s eyes went wide upon the sight of the letter. His older brother’s harsh words, but words laced with soft and yearning for a better relationship touched his heart. His fingers shook, the paper flapping in his grip. Sitting down, he breathed. Thoughts fled through his mind, like the rivers in his land, and he was lost. He had hurt his brother, would he lose himself again? Brothers were supposed to be there for each and yet he had been far away than what they both imagined. 

Kiku set the paper down, placing his hands close to his forehead and placing his elbows on the table of his home. The light cherry blossoms danced along in the wind as his sister was walking alongside the vast large garden. In a split moment, something so new came to Kiku’s mind. 

He was going to visit Yao personally. 

The sunlight seeped through Yao’s bedroom as he awoke from his slumber. The morning sunlight burned at his eyes, as he stretched, getting out of his bed and walking towards the kitchen of his traditional style home. He prepared himself some breakfast, looking at the steam coming from his tea. 

He then heard a knock on the door. 

“Romulus, give me strength.” Yao whispered under his breath, before pulling on his shawl a bit more, the red fabric matching the hair tie that kept his hair in place. He proceeded to open his door, with one tea cup in his hand. 

He soon dropped the tea cup, shattering it to the floor. There he was. Honda Kiku standing on the other side of the door frame, smiling. Yao made a face, stepping back, and then allowing his younger brother to come in. 

Kiku smiled, bowing and entering the room. Yao furrowed his eyebrows in distrust. 

“Arigato brother.” Kiku stood there, his hands folding behind his back, as if he was hiding something to Yao’s mind. 

“What do you want?” Yao spoke harshly, cleaning up the broken glass on the floor. 

“Forgiveness. To restore our bond, of course brother.” He smiled, taking out his hand and offering it to Yao. Yao turned around, throwing the glass away, and sighing. 

“How will I know you won’t hurt me again?” He asked, his voice breaking. 

“Haven’t you been hurt enough? I take pity on my elders.” Kiku spoke, sitting down, his dark fabric clothing swaying from the light breeze, that was let in. 

“Tell me Yao, if Romulus was here, what would he want you to do?” Kiku spoke sweetly, twiddling his thumbs. 

“If he was here, you wouldn’t.” The older brother sneered. 

Kiku’s mouth opened up just slightly, gasping slightly taken aback. He placed his hand on his chest, eyes widening. After a moment or two, he stood up, eyes narrowing. 

“I have come to your house seeking forgiveness and you treat me like this?” Kiku’s voice slightly rose up, causing Yao to look his older brother straight into the eyes. 

“I’ve welcomed you once, and you destroyed that welcome.” Yao growled, as Kiku smirked. 

“Consider Romulus be disappointed. He stood for forgiveness and peace, didn’t he not? That’s probably why he was killed so brutally.” Kiku sighed, turning his back on Yao once more. 

“It’s the same story. The weak attract the weak. Surprised you're still alive.” 

“You’ll always be a dishonor, Kiku.” Yao spoke harshly. Kiku raised an eyebrow, turning around and glared at him. 

“I’ll be a dishonor to you, but that doesn't matter now.” Kiku stormed out of the home, as Yao’s chest moved up and down. His knees buckled, dropping him to the floor, and tears began to slip.


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END OF PART ONE:   
> (stay tune for part two!)

The world meeting is most often or not a disaster for all the countries. Trapped in a room where their past lovers, past allies, past enemies, current enemies, triggering memories lay frightened many of the large and powerful countries. Alas, some were keen on re establishing relations, while others wanted to stay cooped up in their sorrow. The room was nice as it always was, the large table that stretched from one end to another, the chairs dusted off, and their names marking their assigned seats. Countries were chattering away by the coffee pot station, while others were getting a headstart on reading the minutes from the last meeting. Some had been there for at least an hour earlier, while others just stumbled in in a drunken state. 

“Alright, the world meeting can convene.” A country spoke up. His tie securely fastened around his neck and his blazer buttoned up, the dark color contrasted his pale hair and bright blue eyes. The other countries read through the papers, while two countries were staring at each other angrily. 

“Hey Arthur, are you alright?” A fellow island nation questioned the blonde british man. His green eyes on his sunkissed skin were once attractive to Arthur. 

“Yes yes Joao.” He spoke under his breath. Eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed. 

“You don’t like it.” 

“Oh just Kiku decided to do something that could have thrown us in another war.” He rubbed his forehead, while Kiku held onto his writing utensil tightly, as if it was going to break. 

“I’m guessing it has to do with the country that is not here at all.” Portugal, Joao guessed, as Arthur nodded his head. 

“Kiku might have to face the consequences alone. He’s too stupid for me to dwell and twiddle my thumbs with him.” He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair, still keeping eye contact with the japanese nation. 

Kiku snapped the pencil, causing Alfred to jump next to him. 

“Dude, are you alright?” Alfred titled his head, while Ivan watched from afar. 

“Hai Hai.” He mirrored the same expression that his western nation was making. 

“I don’t think you are, dude. I know how annoying my brother can be. Maybe you two need to work it out in the bedroom.” He laughed loudly, causing Kiku to snap not just the pencil. 

“Japan, is everything alright?” The host of the meeting questioned, as Kiku coughed. 

“Apologizes. I must step out for a second.” He walked out the door, Arthur standing up and following him. 

Ivan sighed, his eyes staring at the paper, while Alfred stared at him with his blue eyes. He found himself daydreaming and not paying attention to the meeting at hand, but only focusing on his russian country. He was across the table seeming so close to touch, but nothing had happened. 

Ivan looked at Alfred and shot him a quick smile, causing Alfred to jump in his seat, but then find his calm again. He dreamed of late nights where they’d watch the stars. He dreamed of early mornings curled up next to him. He dreamed of mid day fights, but then a single kiss making it all so better. 

And Ivan dreamed of the same thing. Ivan longed for late nights where they’d put aside the troubles they’d faced. He dreamed of early mornings where he would make Alfred’s coffee addiction worse. He dreamed of mid day fights, and to talk it out. 

But deep down, Ivan knew he was unstable. Dependent. Desperate. Lonely. And Alfred was stable. Independent. Grateful. Surrounded by friends. 

“Ahem, America. What is your status in the country?” The host asked the american country to snap him out of his daydream. 

After the meeting, Ivan and Alfred walked next to each other unintentionally. The cold weather was foregin to Alfred and he shivered to his bone, while Ivan walked through the cold as if it was 80. He looked at the american, taking off his scarf and wrapping it around his neck. 

“Keep it. I have plenty of scarves at home. Katya keeps knitting me more.” He said. 

Alfred nodded. 

Yao closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He sipped the tea, the warm cup warming his fingers. The stimulation of the heat caused him to open his eyes to find himself closer to that one fateful day where the flags of the opposing nations waved. It was in the middle of a war, and men wouldn’t seem to get along for once. The vast mountains stretched from miles upon miles, and Yao was sitting by a tree that seemed to be losing its leaves. 

A man approached the courtyard where Yao was enjoying the day. He clutched the side of his body, his face displaying signs of pain and agony. The chinese man dropped his tea, the cup shattering and rushed over to the wounded. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, as the soldier smiled slightly. 

“Yes, I’m alright.” Those were the last words he spoke as his eyes closed and went limp in Yao’s arms. Yao, not knowing what to do, took him inside, placed him on his bed and prepared tea and took several sleepless nights to nurse the soldier back to health. 

“My name’s Romulus.” He spoke, sitting up and groaning as the chinese man smiled. 

“The name’s Wang Yao.” 

Eventually they walked together every morning, and Romulus would stumble back home after a hard day’s battle to recharge and soon fall in love with Yao. With Yao, Romulus felt like he could take on the world, conquer Germania and win the war. 

Yao still could remember the taste of the late empire’s kiss on his lips. The touch of his strong fingers on his skin, as their relationship sparked the world to shake. Both of them were soldiers. Both of them were strong. Both of them respected each other. The world was connected. West and the East. 

But that day where Yao’s world went dark. 

The fall of Rome.


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART TWO:

Whenever Arthur was in distress, he sought comfort in his piano. His white fingers touched the white keys, and played soft melodies amongst the house. The books seem to dwell happily with the tune, as the books no longer seemed dismayed or dismantled, but of course Arthur was not like the books. Unlike most books, he was hard to read. Impossible to analyze even with a degree, and well, Arthur did have that degree. 

Someone knocked on the edge of his door, his green eyes flickered from the keys up to the source. 

“Kiku.” He whispered softly, instantly taking his gaze off of him. 

“Arthur.” Kiku whispered back, taking a step closer. 

“What you did was stupid and obscene.” The British man muttered. Kiku’s shoulders tensed, and his face turned into somewhat of a disgruntled expression. 

“Don’t. I already know. Yao is too hard to forgive.” Kiku spoke, finding his hands slid against Arthur’s skin, down to his collar, wrapping both of his hands and resting on his lover’s shoulder. 

“But why exactly. All he did was want to protect you. Protect you from the harsh world. Protect you from me.” Arthur whispered, his fingers frozen on the piano’s monochrome design. 

“Just like you tried to do for Alfred, but the proper is you and Yao are both suffocating.” Kiku spoke, pressing a kiss on Arthur’s eyelid. 

Arthur caught a hold of Kiku’s left hand, bringing it up to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss. 

Kiku sighed out of relief, “So you’re not mad at me, anymore?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, “No, not at all, love.” 

“But I think you should at least try to restore your bond.” 

Yao sipped his tea, alone with silence, Once, this home was filled with his siblings, and his lover pressing a small kiss on his cheek, before he went off to war. But nothing was keeping him warm, not even the tea. His hands were cold, his heart was frozen over, and he could barely manage to keep his voice from cracking, and breaking into sobs, but nothing. 

A Letter had fallen down at his feet. It was a nice one. Not an old one, but a sincere new one, with the same initials on it, H.K. He sighed, picking it up and tearing through the envelope. 

“Please join me, for tea. Yao.” 

Yao took a deep breath, looking outside and finding that his brother was standing outside, in a western style coat, probably purchased by Arthur as a gift for him, during the chillier seasons. Yao placed on his traditional heat source and walked out. 

“I apologize. My sincere apologies.” He spoke, as they began to walk. Yao had no idea, where, but he followed his younger brother. 

“Why did you leave? Why did you turn around and betray me? I had already lost another.” Yao spoke, his voice being carried by the wind. 

“You see, I was chatting with Arthur. I’ve learned that the two of you are very similar.” Kiku stuck his hands in his pockets, as Yao furrowed his eyebrows. How dare he compare him to Arthur? 

“You both have lost so much. You’ve loved but they could only last so long. You’ve lost so much.” 

“Where are you getting at, Kiku? The tea’s getting cold.” Yao spoke, sitting down, as Kiku did the same. 

“If I love Arthur the way I do, perhaps I can find a way to restore the once family we had.” Kiku took out his hand holding it across the table for Yao to take. Yao, being a bit too hesitant, did not move a muscle, but only to take a sip of his tea. 

Kiku sighed, sipping his tea. 

“It’s going to take some building up your trust once more, I presume.” Kiku spoke calmly, as Yao nodded. 

“Even though you are my brother, you’ve hurt me, and it will take some time to heal.” Yao sighed, finishing his tea and standing up, as Kiku did the same. 

“Thank you.” 

They both bowed in unison.


	7. VII.

His eyes sparkled among the stars, as they both watched it, hands curled together. His glasses fogged by from the cold, as his hands were like ice. Hands cold as ice, intertwined, and their heads nestled close to each other. On the hill, that Alfred’s older brother had once gone. 

Alfred had turned to Ivan smiling, his big blue eyes, resembling that of the Earth they used to fight over. 

“I love you to the moon and back.” Alfred whispered, causing Ivan to have a step back.   
“Wait-.” His face made a combination of a confused yet offended look, causing Alfred to panic. 

“No no, that’s not what I meant!” He laughed, as Ivan sighed, tackling him down on the grass. 

“You know, we’re not the best couple, right. Like we’re both toxic to each other.” Alfred sighed. 

“Well, what makes you say that?” 

“Well, you’re a communist. I’m a capitalist. We fought for a long time.” Alfred explained, the stars shining, as they both laid on their backs. The moon was looking gorgeous that night, it was almost as if it was smiling. 

The divide between political ideologies was never going to cease, and both Ivan and Alfred knew the undeniable truth. But nevertheless, their love would preserve over the fights they would battle. Their different perspectives, hot and cold. Some days, completely unable to keep their hands off of each other, and others, couldn’t stand to be in the same room as each other. 

But Alfred liked this. Alfred didn’t like to be smothered and neither did Ivan. Unlike their older, Arthur and Kiku or Yao and Romulus, both males did not fall under the label “romantic”. They did not need to see each other every day, they both needed space to clear their minds. But to most people, being far apart from each other in long periods would result in affairs, but it wasn’t the case for these two. 

One Letter from Ivan Brangisky. Another from Alfred F. Jones. 

Privet Alfred, 

I trust that you are managing without me on your trip to Tokyo. Please, don’t strain Kiku too much, for he never enjoys your company. I say that with love, Alfred. I’ve been chatting with the stars, and they say you’ve been doing well. Seeing you happy, awakes something new in me. 

Hey Ivan, 

Kiku doesn’t let my company? That’s new. We’re like best buds, alas though to be honest, I’d rather spend time with you, even when I complain about needing space. How’s your side of the moon looking? 

Ivan and Alfred chuckled at each other letters, as years went on, their letters got shorter, but a lot more meaningful. 

Alfred, 

I love you. 

Ivan,   
I love you too. 

They were an action based couple, and not nearly any words to hold the place of affection. A gentle brush of hand contact would know the other’s intentions. They’d get into fights at first, big ones. Not like the fights that a Kirkland and a Bonnefoy would fight, but fights that could level the Earth, but eventually, it soon turned into a tsk, a few moments of silence, and then pinning each other to the wall, melting into each other’s embrace and kisses.


	8. VIII.

The loud bang rose Yao up from his slumber. His vision was blurry when he realized he wasn’t in his room, in which he thought he had fallen asleep. He looked up seeing a large banner with the roman letters. He shifted, familiarizing himself, the blankets falling off his bare shoulders. The candles flickering as if his love hadn’t been snuffed out just yet. 

He noticed the picture next to a few tea-stained papers, and two cups of half filled wine squeezed and fermented from the best grapes. His fingers leaned over to get a better look at the picture. His heart fell below six feet under, upon seeing his smile. In the photo, a curly haired man in armor had his arm around Yao’s waist, as Yao’s hand rested on a smaller boy’s shoulder. Another boy was sitting on Yao’s lover’s shoulders, smiling outside of what might have looked like the Roman Connseuluam. His fingers let go off the photo, having it land perfectly on the table again. He took off the blankets, realizing that he was in someone else’s bed. 

A dead man’s bed. 

Yao got up, his whole body feeling heavy. He picked up several of the papers, seeing that there were letters. Yao looked up at the wall realizing that the sword was not in its resting place. Yao gasped. 

“N-No.” He let out a small whisper. His head turned around to find soldiers walking through the halls. He hid behind a purple curtain, his brown eyes meeting another pair of brown eyes. His curly hair brushed through and his helmet in his hand. Romulus Augustus Vargas was going to war. 

And for the last time. 

Yao tripped over the curtain, landing in front of Romulus, who looked down upon the fallen Yao. Yao’s breath turned quick and shortened. Yao stood up and straightened himself up in front of his lover. Yao, without thinking, threw his arms around Romulus, his hand touching his cheek. 

“Yao, you’re acting like I’m not going to return. I will.” Romulus pulled Yao away from him, kissing Yao’s hand.   
“I-I know. I just can’t shake this feeling.” Yao whispered, closing his eyes, as Romulus kissed Yao’s head. 

“Take care of my boys, while I’m gone.” Romulus whispered, as Yao nodded. 

“Yao, I love you. Don’t ever forget it. I’ll tell you about it when I get back too.” Romulus smiled, walking to his death. Yao stifled back tears. 

Two little boys ran down the stairs, to grab Yao’s hands, waving off their grandpa. Yao stared into his eyes, mouthing some words. 

“Bye bye Grandpa! Remember you teach me the techniques of war when you get back!” A boy with the same exact curly hair shouted. His eyes green. 

“We have to paint when you get back!” 

… Yao’s heart hurt.

“Yes, when you get back.” 

It became dark. 

Letters. Letters. Letters. Letters. 

Wang Yao,

I want to thank you for saving my life when we first met. I do hope it wasn’t too tedious for you. May I invite you to Rome? 

Romulus Vargas, 

Rome? I am staying here. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

Wang Yao,  
Come to the west with me. 

And so Yao did. 

But at what cost. 

Letters. Letters. Letters.


	9. IX.

The meeting room was full once again; a part two to the meeting beforehand. This time, the room seemed less tense, more on a common ground, even though bonds hadn’t been reformed like that, in an instant. That was never the case. Wang Yao, this time was sitting next to his brother, who seemed to almost forget about their little interaction over tea a couple of weeks ago. He took a sip of the water that was provided to him, and began to write some notes. 

Alfred and Ivan looked at each other from across the table, not paying attention to what Ludwig was speaking about. It seemed like they were the only two in the world, and from all of the past fighting- and they had finally realized that maybe, just maybe, the world was big enough for the two of them. 

The meeting had ended, and some complained about how it was a waste of time, and others just brushed it off. 

“Ah, Hello Tolys..” A blonde walked up to a brown hair, as the brunette smiled. 

“Would you like to hang out today?” He asked, as Tolys shook his head. 

“I have to go visit Mr. Ivan, today, but I’ll write you a letter today.” He explained. Tolys kissed the pole’s head and walked out of the meeting. The blonde watched him, smiling. 

As the Pole was walking in his home, a doorbell was rung. He walked up to the door, opening it, and finding a letter had arrived. He grabbed it off the floor, and opened it while kicking the door closed. In the utmost gorgeous handwriting, he had found himself tearing up by his words. A wax seal and pressed flowers were added. 

Dearest my friend, 

How is life aside from diplomatic affairs? Do you miss the cornfield in which we would escape Mr. Ivan’s cruel power? We would sunbathe for hours, and tell each other secrets that we couldn’t bear any longer. We would smile at each other, as I’ve tried to kiss you several times, but nothing had prevailed. I do hope once political turmoil ends, we can do that once again, but this time, not to hide away from cruel power, but for love. As you could see, the way Ivan shared an embrace with the American. Surely, he has found meaning. 

-Tolys. 

Letters. Letters. Letters. Letters were the most valued form of communication between all countries, big or small. Well known or lesser known. Their letters would tell stories and express all that was needed to know. Not for once did countries think that people other than them would come across them. 

Dusty, tea stained, and smooshed letters in between books hidden in the library told you all you needed to know about their relationship. How he would be secretly courting her, when it was forbidden. The titles of the books demonstrated how he would play the piano for her, and she would sing softly. Their meetings in the library soon became compromised, when another found out. Heart shattered, and another letter dried with salty tea and sadden marks.   
Or what would come of the gorgeous german words mixed in with italian scents. How one’s letters were structured formally with rarely any emotion and the other frantically emotional in their letters. How stamps would ware from its original condition, from its travels from sea to land. How italian would roll of your tongue if you were to recite the letters as if there were a work of poetry. 

Letters tell a story. We all rely on letters.


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. The end of the story, but most definingly not the end of the letters. not the end of the relationships the countries have. 
> 
> I want to thank my beta readers for helping me in some parts sorry I'm so impatient. I also want to thank all of you; thank for reading, leaving kudos, and making my hits go up. I really enjoy writing, there will be several more stories, long like this one and "Just the Two of Us" and they'll be shorter ones. Thank you all!! 
> 
> -Blue.

“I think I’ve saved the majority of our letters, during the early stage of our courting. One day historians will fight to get their hands on them.” Arthur stated. His green pants add contrast to his brown jacket, and white collared shirt paired with a sweater. He sipped some tea in a tea cup, staring at Kiku’s brown eyes. Yao watching this gagged, begging for space and air from the western smelling library. 

“Bold of you to assume that historians would want to know about your relationship.” Alfred teased, a black cup fill of soda, touched his lips, as Ivan drank clear liquid. 

“Now, now, lay off the poor man. The letters are the only thing that keeps him sane. I heard from my sister Nat that he sniffs them whenever Kiku is not there with him.” Ivan spoke, sipping some of his vodka, while Yao scoffed, about to laugh but refrained. Kiku turned a bright red, but then pressed his fingers up to his lips. 

The one who was blushing redder than anything was Arthur. 

“Now now, stop spreading those rumors.” He coughed, “No seriously, I don’t.” He spoke his accent becoming thicker. 

He stood up, “Alas. The atmosphere is quite dry. Alfred, did you bring the jazz records I asked?” 

Alfred stood up handing his older vinyl must to Arthur’s delight. “I trust you bought the wine.” He muttered to himself. He placed the vinyl on the record player, as a soft smooth record played in the background just slightly. 

He smirked directly as Kiku, his hand extending to the japanese man. Kiku stood up, after pouring himself a glass of wine, Arthur had stolen from Francis on a rare occasion, and clinked glasses with his western lover. They danced together to the soft jazz, while the beautiful vocals sang along with their foot work. 

“Perhaps a good thing about western culture is jazz.” Kiku pressed a soft kiss on Arthur’s lips, causing Arthur to hum. 

“Ewwww, the old gays are kissing.” Alfred gagged, as Ivan just smiled. Ivan’s fingers wrapped into Alfred’s, causing Alfred to be caught off guard. Ivan stood up, bringing Alfred with him, behind a collection of books to melt into each other’s touch. 

Leaving Yao to his own devices. 

The room became suffocating for Yao. He got up, sitting his tea cup in the process, leaving the couple alarmed, when he stood up so quickly. He got up, and exited the room, a few tears streaming down his cheeks. He sighed, leaning over the balcony’s edge, perring over the garden. 

“All I have left is your letters.” He whispered into the wind, which seemed to pick up. A small voice chuckled. Yao felt an usual embrace of warmth. The warmth he could never receive from tea. 

“Wang Yao, 

You know that’s a lie. You have my memory. My embrace. My heart.” 

Yao turned around, but there was no one there. 

“I love you.” 

THE END


End file.
